Chutes and Ladders
by writerdragonfly
Summary: Derek and Stiles evade capture by a psychotic hunter by hiding in a laundry chute. It doesn't go as expected.


For fucking-stiles on tumblr.

* * *

"Slow down!" he yelps as his back slides harshly against the unforgiving wall.

"Be quiet!" Derek hisses, tightening his arms around him.

"Dude, we're going to get seriously hurt doing this if you don't go slower!" Stiles snarks back. He's pretty sure that if he could see Derek's face from this position, he'd be glaring at him.

"And if you don't shut up, we're going to get caught," Derek whispers. Okay, so _yeah_, he has a point. Stiles shuts up.

But shutting up turns out to be a horrible idea, because then he's hyper aware of everything else.

Like the fact that they are pressed against each other, chest to chest. Like the fact that his legs are wrapped around Derek's back and his arms are around his neck.

Like the fact that his face is pressed against Derek's and with every shift his cheek and neck rubs against the harsh stubble.

He's pretty sure his heart is racing for reasons totally unrelated to mortal peril for once.

And then Derek stops moving suddenly, his arms going stiff against him. His breathing hitches and Stiles can feel it like it's his own.

"Derek?" Stiles asks quietly, trying to maneuver his head to see Derek's. He fails.

Something that Stiles thinks he could categorize as a strangled whine comes out of Derek's mouth. Immediately afterward, the hold against the wall falters and they drop a few inches.

He tries to move his legs in order to grip the wall and slow their descent, but Derek suddenly pushes into him.

"Stop moving."

"We're definitely going to fall a lot faster if you don't hold us up, Derek," Stiles says in response.

He tries to move his legs as they start sliding again and then he's _completely_ aware of why Derek wanted him to stop moving.

"Oh," is all he can muster. He can feel Derek's glare, even if it's not even possible to see it. He doesn't move his legs, even as they drop another few inches.

He's actually pretty sure that if he moves at all, Derek will find out that he's not the only one who finds this… _situation_ a little exciting in more ways than one. He deflects.

"I thought I was the perpetually horny teenage virgin here—"

"Shut up, Stiles."

They stay pressed up against each other, tangled in each other, in silence. Stiles can feel Derek's heart race, which _wow_, that's different.

The awkward quiet doesn't last, because a) he's Stiles and b) they're in a hotel laundry chute during housekeeping hours.

There's suddenly a dirty towel and sheet parade on their heads.

"Fuck!" Stiles shouts as they're unable to keep hold with the barrage of heavy linens. Derek growls as they slide straight down the rest of the chute.

Stiles ends up halfway on top of Derek in the huge laundry basket at the bottom of the chute, his legs still wrapped around his waist. His arms are outstretched in front of him, on either side of Derek's face.

He's also pressed pelvis to pelvis with Derek, both of them completely hard, and unable to look away.

He leans down as Derek leans up, and then—

"What on earth do you think you're doing?!" A woman's voice cuts through the incredibly charged moment.

Stiles doesn't screech in surprise. _Nope. Not at all._

He does, however, jump (fumble, fall, _whatever_) his way out of the industrial laundry basket (bucket? What on earth are these giant things actually called?) and resolutely does not look as Derek gets out behind him.

"Get out, get out, get out!" The angry hotel employee screams, stomping towards them.

They run towards the door at the end of the laundry room, not looking at each other.

* * *

They don't talk about it. Not once they get outside the hotel, not once they get to the parking lot, and not once they're on the way to the rest of the pack. And they _definitely_ don't talk about it once they get there.

They do, however, talk about the psychotic hunter and the dead witch they'd found in the hotel.

"How did you get away without getting hurt?" Scott asks, and yeah, Stiles is going to let Derek take that one.

"We got lucky."

Really, Derek? We got lucky? That's the best you can come up with? Not, we were faster? Stiles got a good idea?

"Why is that a lie?" Isaac asks. Everyone turns to stare at Isaac, except Stiles who is staring at Derek and Derek who is staring at Stiles.

And, well, Isaac, who is not staring at himself but instead watching Derek and Stiles like they're a really interesting program on the Discovery Channel.

"It wasn't luck, it was me being a genius. We jumped down the laundry chute." Stiles rambles out, trying to avoid the whole situation of what happened _inside_ the chute from coming up. He's pretty sure Isaac figures it out as soon as Derek and Stiles go back to not looking at each other.

He really hopes Isaac doesn't say anything.

* * *

Isaac keeps it to himself, at least until Derek and Stiles are gone. Beyond that, he has absolutely no idea.

* * *

"So, that happened." Stiles says as soon as Derek stops in front of his house to let him out. Derek doesn't respond.

"Seriously, wolfboy. Are we just going to ignore the fact that—"

"Shut up."

"Would you quit telling me to shut up and actually talk for once?"

"No. Get out."

* * *

Stiles doesn't stop thinking about it. It's like the actual hottest thing to happen to him, and Derek's reticence about discussing what exactly the fuck happened between them does absolutely nothing to change that.

* * *

It turns out, though, that Stiles isn't alone in his inability to stop thinking about it.

Derek shows up in his room in the middle of the night two weeks later. Stiles isn't in bed because Stiles is a seventeen year old with access to the internet and no school in the morning.

He doesn't see or hear Derek come in, of course, just gets the shit metaphorically scared out of him when his computer chair is suddenly spun around.

"Thank you for shaving another six years off my life. Do we have another pressing danger to resear—" His question is cut short by Derek pulling him upright with a fist in his shirt and kissing the fuck out of him.

It does, however, seem to answer several other questions without the need for actual words.

Not that Stiles is thinking of anything but how good it feels to be kissing Derek at the moment and how they should continue doing so.

"Stiles, I—" Okay, so, yeah. His dad would have perfect timing, that's Stiles _life_.

"Hale. Mind telling me how you got into my son's bedroom at one in the morning without coming through the front door?"

Derek actually seems to blush at that. Stiles can feel his own cheeks heat up, so he has no doubt that he is too.

"The window."

"Did Rapunzel tell you where to find a ladder or did you jump?"


End file.
